


Agoraphobia

by Rrismo



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Asexual Character, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Porn, Gun Kink, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Lucas is so very gay for 47, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrismo/pseuds/Rrismo
Summary: Lucas reaches for 47’s hand, careful, as if trying not to startle a skittish animal, and lets his fingers rest on 47’s skin, half against the back of his hand, half against his wrist.It’s all the encouragement 47 needs.Set between the Dubai and the Dartmoor missions (no spoilers). 47 is struggling with his newfound freedom. Lucas offers help and unearths some issues of his own in the process he kept buried for good reason.
Relationships: Agent 47/Lucas Grey
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	Agoraphobia

In the long run, Lucas should have known the spirits he cited were gonna come back to haunt him, as they always do. And of course it would happen the one moment that he lets his guard down, the one moment that the tension drains out of his shoulders at the thought of freedom. He just didn’t expect these spirits to take the form of 47.

The safe house in Bristol consisting out of one sizable living kitchen area, a bedroom and a bathroom hasn’t been used for years, and it shows. A thin layer of dust covering the black surfaces of once stylish furnishings makes them slightly opaque in the dim light creeping in from the nightly city outside. There's an unease that's been building up behind Lucas' temples, ever since he set foot in this country again. He hopes it's the weather. The light drizzle that welcomed Lucas and 47 in England has turned into a steady rainfall. Its pattering against the huge window fronts permeates the hollowness of the apartment.

Lucas never liked the place, which is why he doesn’t let his eyes linger on anything in it as he goes to drop his duffel back in the bedroom. As he returns to the living room to shrug off his backpack, he finds 47 exactly where he left him, standing in front of the closed apartment door. If he’s tired from the journey, nothing in his face betrays it. Is he scanning his surroundings? Or is he enjoying the sound of the rain against the windows? Every day since Lucas returned his memories to him, 47 has been acting a little bit more like the man Lucas used to know. But of course 47 would not turn back into the friend Lucas left when they were 25 years old. So there is something else there, too, something entirely unfamiliar. Lucas finds himself fascinated with it, and he can barely contain his curiosity. But 47 needs time, and space, no one understands that better than Lucas. And they will have more than enough time once all of this is over.

Lucas gets two glasses from the kitchen cupboards, fills them with water and pops a tablet of aspirin into his own. He puts them on the couch table and drops down on the sofa. Dust motes scatter up around him. He crinkles up his nose, gets his tablet out of his backpack and gives 47 a nod, inviting him to sit down on the armchair next to him.

Their critical window doesn’t open until tomorrow, so they have plenty of time to go over their intel once again. Floor plans of Thornbridge Manor, relevant people and their background info, 47 has committed them to memory absolutely perfectly. It’s a thing of beauty, watching him take his equipment apart to inspect it, then put it back together like a violin virtuoso taking care of his priceless instrument before the opening night of Beethoven’s 9th.

When 47 clicks the magazine back into the handgrip of his reassembled Hardballer and pulls back the custom slide for a brass check, Lucas can’t help but notice the perfect tension in every movement of his hands. He doesn’t realize until 47 puts the gun down on the table that he’s been staring at the other man’s fingers for what must have been a full five minutes. The hint of a smile curls the corners of Lucas’ mouth as he drops his gaze down to the gun. There is a spellbinding artistry to 47’s craft, and sometimes Lucas wonders whether anyone in the world is capable of appreciating the full extent of it the way only the second best can.

47 gets up and pulls off his suit jacket, revealing the black shoulder holster underneath. He continues to undo the buckles holding it in place. A sign of trust. And a sign he’s about to settle back down into the armchair to spend his night there. Lucas tears his eyes away from nimble fingers working and shoulders shrugging out of black straps, ignores the sound of leather brushing over white shirt fabric, and focuses his attention back to his tablet.

He doesn’t even know what exactly it is that’s whirled up inside of him like the dissolved remnants of the aspirin pill on the bottom of his tumbler of water as he picks it up to take a sip. But it’s familiar, and warm, and Lucas decides to let it be for now, and he watches the aspirin powder draw languid circles along the bottom of his glass.

As a son of the Institute for Human Betterment, no one taught you about emotions, about feelings, about urges, or how to deal with them. Sadness, anger, fear, joy, desire, pain, you were told to keep them all in control, to suppress them, erase them if you could. A friend from Chiadzwa had told Lucas that over millions of years, carbon turns into diamonds under tons of weight and scorching temperatures. That’s what his insides used to feel like, and by the time he was 30, he had turned into a blinding ball of rage, with a perfect diamond of self-hatred in the middle.

It had only been when he met Olivia that things changed. Suddenly he was confronted with this small being and her dark, wide eyes, who he could hurt so much through a single word or a single gesture that it got through to him, through the layers and layers of carbon shielding him, protecting him, pressing down on him. He remembered what it was like to be so small and vulnerable to the world. It was the first thing that got Lucas to start chipping away at the armor surrounding his core. It’s still not easy to handle his emotions. They are still as intense and all-consuming as that blinding ball of fire. But he’s getting better at directing them.

He looks up because he’s noticed something unusual. Again, 47 hasn’t moved from where he’s standing. The way he’s hovering in the middle of the room would be awkward, but with his dark silhouette outlined by the tall windows, it’s almost imposing.

“What’s the matter, 47?”, Lucas asks gently. He can practically see the gears turn behind 47’s forehead. Something’s bothering him. “Is it the memories?”

47 doesn’t answer. Instead, he does something Lucas hasn’t seen him do for over thirty years. The fingers of his right hand fumble with the sleeve of his left. “How do you know what you want?”

It’s hard to contain a smile. For a man who had both his emotions and his memories violently ripped out of him, who thrives on being the weapon in another person’s hand, that would be a tough thing to figure out. Lucas remembers struggling with it as well. Lucas knows a lot of former inmates. Some of them developed agoraphobia as a result of being imprisoned on minimal space for too long. After spending the first 25 years of your life being told what to do, how to live, what to eat, when to sleep, freedom feels similarly daunting. Finding new boundaries is a lifelong task, but if Lucas can be the help to 47 that he wishes he’d have had when he stumbled out of the Romanian woods, he’ll do what he can.

“You try it out”, Lucas answers. “Mulling things over in your head can only take you so far. If you find out you like it, good. If you realize you don’t… well, at least you’ve learned something.”

It’s unclear whether 47 is satisfied with that answer. He furrows his brow even more, but stops the fumbling. Then the gears behind his forehead seem to snap into place. 47 approaches Lucas, no trace of unease in his slow, measured steps. Simultaneously, he lifts his hands up to his tie knot and pulls it open with one swift motion. He stops only when he’s standing between Lucas’ open legs, their knees almost touching, and drops the tie on the couch table. All of the man’s movements are smooth, and yet Lucas knows there is a tentativeness there, as he’s always known. When 47 bends down, Lucas finds himself pressing back the fracture of an inch, and 47 halts. His piercing eyes bore right into Lucas’, and there is a question in them that 47 could not ask, even if he was capable of wording it. One of his hands is braced on the armrest of the couch.

The rain seems unbearably loud all of the sudden. The siren of a police car passing by on the street far below cuts through the steady flow of water against tall windows, its flickering blue light bouncing off of 47’s sharp features for just a second, before the car is gone and they’re left with nothing but the sound of the rain in the dark again.

Lucas reaches for 47’s hand, careful, as if trying not to startle a skittish animal, and lets his fingers rest on 47’s skin, half against the back of his hand, half against his wrist.

It’s all the encouragement 47 needs. He shifts one knee onto the couch next to Lucas and grasps him, no, that’s not what is happening, it’s so much more than that. Purposeful hands roam up Lucas’ neck, fingers dig into his hair with the exact same minimalist efficiency 47 displays in every aspect of his life. Lucas finds himself so securely held between 47’s slightly cool and dry palms that he can’t help but close his eyes and let it happen. 47 kisses him, and Lucas tries to think about how it’s good, very good even, if a bit mechanical, but he can’t. He’s too busy calming his breath and his heartbeat as this thing stirs in his chest again, like something from the bottom of a pool of water, only the pool of water is much larger and deeper than a drinking glass, and whatever has settled at the bottom of it is much heavier, headier.

This isn’t the first time Lucas has been this close to 47. It isn’t even the first time they’ve kissed, but he’s not sure whether 47 is aware of that. While some of the other boys at the Institute had been fooling around, 47 had never displayed much interest in these things. It made the whispers they had shared under blankets in the night all the more special to Lucas. He’d been perfectly happy being the one for 47 to lean on when the darkness of the Institute got to them. And when they had been teenagers and 47 had wanted to find out what all the fuss was about, of course he would come to the only person he trusted enough with it. In the end, 47 had decided it wasn’t for him, and Lucas had been glad he could help him realize that. And that had been that. And it’s alright. Trust was, and still is, infinitely more valuable than anything else to Lucas.

And yet, Lucas can’t help the way the waves well up inside of him, crash down on him, when 47 drops down on his knees and looks up at him with that _look_ in his eyes, so focused on his task, it makes a shaky sigh escape Lucas’ throat as an invisible weight forces all the air out of his lungs at the sight. He’s not sure whether he should be afraid.

47 opens Lucas’ belt and fly with practiced movements, resolute, almost a little too rough. Lucas gets a hold of 47’s wrists and holds them in place for a moment. “Hey, hey... slow down”, he murmurs, and it’s only when he moves his lips that he realizes he’s smiling what must be a pretty dopey-looking smile. He can’t be bothered to straighten his features back into a composed facade. His fingertips feel too tingly and his head swims in such an exciting way. For a moment he fears 47 is going to take offense at Lucas meddling with his work. Instead, he accepts it as an instruction with a faint humming sound. Lucas’ heart jumps into his throat at the noise.

It doesn’t take 47 long to stroke Lucas into shape. Lucas is fully aware that he looks as eager as the twenty-something washed up kid he used to be. 47 nudges Lucas’ legs apart, pointedly not as rough as he could have, and part of Lucas wants to press his knees together and run, only for the hope that he can go back to before, back to forgetting how much he wants this. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he opens his legs instead and welcomes 47’s administrations. He lets his hands rest loosely on the back of 47’s neck and manages to breathe a “This alright?”, before going back to falling apart as 47 makes an affirmative humming noise in the back of his throat that vibrates all the way through Lucas’ cock and sends goosebumps up his arms.

47’s eyes are closed, and there is something uncharacteristically soft in the way his eyelashes brush his marble cheeks. Lucas’ heart constricts so hard it sends a wave of electricity through his entire body. He’s close, but he doesn’t want it to end like this.

“Wait”, Lucas says. “Should we… take this to the bedroom?”

47 blinks up at him in an almost comical fashion. “Why?”

Lucas pulls in his lower lip and bites down on it. Right. This is about helping 47 figure out his new boundaries. But that doesn’t mean he can’t give 47 anything in return.

Lucas tugs 47 in by the back of his neck a little. “Come here”, he says softly and waits for 47 to get up. After a bit of awkward shuffling and shifting, 47 straddles Lucas’ legs with his own. Lucas’ hands find their way up the inside of 47’s thighs, over his hips, his narrow waist, crumpling white fabric as they feel each tense muscle and each bone underneath his shirt. He might as well be feeling up a stone statue. Lucas’ fingers reach 47’s shirt buttons and pause.

“Can I?”, Lucas asks, and to his surprise, an impatient crease forms between 47’s brows.

“This only works if you stop talking”, 47 states dryly.

Lucas swallows. Before he entered the real world and found out all the benefits of asking and talking and making sure, that is indeed how they used to do it. How they all used to do it. 

The next second, Lucas has 47’s shirt ripped open, sending a couple of buttons flying everywhere. 47 makes a disgruntled snarl at that, but this is what he wanted. And he’s right, it _is_ the only way this is going to work. Strong hands grab Lucas’ shoulders as he presses their bodies flush together, lets his hands roam up 47’s back and dig into skin and muscles. Lucas bites down on the white nape of 47’s neck. Just like everything else about him, it looks like it’s cut from stone, but it yields to Lucas’ teeth so beautifully that he draws back and kisses it instead. He’s so hard it’s getting painful by now, especially with the way 47’s crotch presses down on him, but he wants to savor this just a little bit more. 

Pulling down 47’s briefs far enough to free his cock, Lucas can’t help feeling a little self-satisfied when he finds it half-hard. 47 sighs voicelessly at the touch. His gaze is fixed to Lucas’ hands, inquisitive interest open in his eyes. Lucas decides he can allow himself a little self-indulgence and shifts underneath 47 until their cocks are aligned. He strokes them both with his left hand, the fingers of his right digging so deep into the flesh of 47’s hips it must be painful from the strain of the excitement building up inside him, but 47 doesn’t even wince. He’s such a gorgeous sight with his open shirt hanging off the curve of his shoulders, white, expensive fabric against marble. He’s leaned forward over Lucas with one arm braced against the backrest of the couch, shielding Lucas on all sides. Lucas’ head drops back and he lets a raspy moan fill what little air is left between them.

Lucas almost has himself convinced this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, when all of a sudden, 47 lets his eyes fall shut, parts his lips and leans in close enough for their foreheads to touch. Lucas loses his rhythm, and so does his heartbeat for a painful second. He feels 47’s breath on his skin, and it’s warm, and uneven. All Lucas can do is stare and desperately try to focus his maelstrom of a mind enough to engrave this moment in his memories, but a low groan from 47 sends him over the edge before he can truly grasp the image.

It only takes a couple more seconds until 47 furrows his brows and sharply pulls in air between his teeth. 47’s entire body stiffens as he comes, and Lucas’ thumb rubs relaxing circles into 47’s hip as he watches the other man calm down and catch his breath. Lucas wishes it would take longer so he could keep staring at 47’s chest and shoulders rise and fall, but as always, 47 recuperates within mere seconds. He draws himself up, still sitting in Lucas’ lap, and straightens his shoulders.

Lucas looks up at him, completely helpless and defenseless, and his head filled with nothing but a blank void. All of his mind is focused on every place where his skin touches 47’s. Eventually, the sound of the rain seeps through the haze again. How could he ever think it’s too loud? It’s gentle, and calming, and perfect, and…

With quick and mechanical movements, 47 pulls up his briefs and gets up. “I’m getting cleaned up”, he states, turns, and leaves for the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

Lucas feels a sting in his chest, but he breathes it away. He gets it. Truth is, he feels relieved to have a minute alone after this. A fatigue washes over him that has little to do with physical strain as he pulls up his own pants. He drags one hand over his face, down to the back of his neck, kneads the surprisingly relaxed muscles there, and rolls his head to the side. The lights of the city reflect endlessly in the billions of water droplets on the window. It all feels enhanced, and deceptively beautiful, the same way drugs make the world seem so much more interesting than it actually is. 

The sound of the shower from the next room and the sight of the red tie on the couch table make the reality of what he’s just done sink in. And with it, a sudden panic creeps up his windpipe and closes his throat shut. He’d kept all of this locked away for good reason. What had been his first mistake? Encouraging 47 to make his own decisions? Giving him back his memories? Getting into contact with him in the first place?

Lucas shakes his head. None of this had been a mistake.

He gets up from the couch, washes his hands in the kitchen sink and starts scanning the floor. With every white button he picks up, he feels his composure come back to him.

When 47 returns from the bathroom, Lucas holds out his hand. “Give me your shirt.”

47 obliges wordlessly.

Lucas gets out his emergency sewing kit which he mainly uses to disguise his suturing equipment, but which also contains regular needle and thread. They sit together in silence while Lucas sews 47's buttons back on. It’s a comfortable silence, Lucas finds.

He hands 47 back his shirt. “There, all new.”

47 inspects the buttons critically, for a noticeably long time, his face inscrutable. Even after all the years they spent together, sometimes the man remains an enigma to Lucas.

“You alright?”, Lucas asks.

After another couple of seconds, 47 nods. 

“Well, as I said. At least you learned something.” Lucas gives him a pat on the shoulder, gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. 

“Yes”, 47 finally murmurs. Lucas halts and turns to look at him. Even from where Lucas is standing, in the open bathroom door, he can see the creases between 47’s brows smoothing out. “It’s good that I did it”, 47 says, his thumb gently brushing over the newly sewed on buttons. “Since it's you.”

Lucas watches 47 put his shirt back on and the warm, languid swirl inside of him wells up so hard his chest might burst with fondness for the other man. With it returns the unease, despite the aspirin. Only now Lucas knows why. If the past has taught him anything, it's that good things never last for long. It's not the first time that Lucas suspects he just wasn't born for them.

The waters will calm, and maybe this will settle down at the bottom of his mind again, just like it did before. But maybe it doesn’t have to, Lucas thinks. After all, trust has always been the most valuable thing that connects them. Perhaps their feelings don’t have to align perfectly. And perhaps, Lucas muses, he can still let himself have this, for as long as he's got left. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked the fic, please leave a comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and also find more 6/47 shippers!
> 
> You can hit me up on tumblr at krokorobin if you like, I draw things!


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